


Flight Dynamics: Yaw, Pitch and Roll

by Delwin



Series: ...fluff, angsty fluff and caper fluff (unapologetic, straight up P/T) [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Caper Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 11:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10188488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delwin/pseuds/Delwin
Summary: Three misadventures of our favorite Delta Quadrant pilot and engineer...





	1. Yaw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Photogirl1890](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Photogirl1890/gifts).



> For Photogirl1890. An embarrassingly long time ago, I asked her for three prompts. She sent back,
> 
> "Well that should make the rest of the trip back home more interesting."
> 
> "It was a planetary survey mission. I didn't realize you were expecting a souvenir." And,
> 
> "So, do you think it has potential?"
> 
> At long last, here are the resulting fics.
> 
> Thanks is also due to Photogirl since she has patiently and generously beta-read these pieces over the course of their slow creation. And thanks as well to Sareki for her helpful feedback on Proton universe technobabble.

* * *

 

_"Every flying machine has four basic controls: power, pitch, yaw, and roll. Where are yours?" Starbuck, Battlestar Galactica_

* * *

 

_Yaw_

"And how did I know I'd find you here?"

"B'Elanna!" Dropping the drink in his hand - the extra liquid will never be noticed on the permanently sticky tables and floor - Tom pushes through the press of bodies separating him from the chief engineer. "You shouldn't be here." Unthinking, he puts a hand to her elbow to guide her to the exit, scanning the crowd with growing apprehension.

" _I_ shouldn't be here?" She shakes off his hand and stops dead, turning to glare at him. "What about you, Paris? I wasn't aware that enjoying the questionable pleasures of the local dive bar was one of the objectives for this away mission."

"Look, it's not what you think. We need to get you out of here." Tom tries his best imploring look. "Just trust me, okay?"

"Trust you? _You_? Really, Paris?"

Not that she doesn't have a point, but this is a bad time for such technicalities. Tom opens his mouth to respond when a pair of arms close around his waist from behind.

"Is this where you've been hiding from me, Tommy boy?"

He spins around in alarm that does not abate at the sight of his voluptuous captor. "Vala!"

Vala gazes at him in adoration as she loosens one hand to wag a finger, her Renuit phalanges glowing a soft blue in the dim lighting. "I thought you might be trying to run out on me early."

Torres, meanwhile, has stepped around to get a clear view of the proceedings. "Not what I thought, huh, 'Tommy boy'?"

Damn...

"Look, Torres, really..."

A roar from across the room swallows his words.

Vala turns toward the source of the roar and gives a satisfied smile. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she passes her lips across Tom's cheek before whispering, "As promised," in his ear and pressing a vial into his hand.

In the time it takes him to look down and verify the contents of the tube, she has slipped into the crowd.

"What the hell is that?" Torres snaps, eying the vial.

But Tom's attention has turned back to the commotion across the room which centers on a very large, very angry Renuit male.

A very large, very angry male whose eyes lock on Tom at the same moment Tom spots him.

"Paris!" The roar takes definite form and even Torres's eyes widen.

"Right. Time to leave," the engineer murmurs, and it's her turn to pull on Tom's arm as she backs towards the bar's exit.

Bull-like, roaring alien notwithstanding, Tom can't help his delight that she isn't instead securing a front row seat to watch him get pummeled. "Why, Torres – I didn't know you cared."

To which she gives an eloquent reply with her free hand while continuing to pull him to the door.

Pushing their way through an assortment of Delta Quadrant species that any Federation exobiologist would give his or her eye teeth – or whatever anatomical equivalent might be available – to view, they stumble through the exit and out into the clean and silent corridors of the Atarean space station.

Clean, silent and unmarked corridors.

Taking a fifty-fifty shot, Tom turns left, eager to put distance between them and the door that is likely going to reopen all too soon. A sharp yank on his arm spins him around.

" _This_ way, Paris," B'Elanna hisses and sets off down the corridor without waiting to see if he will follow.

He considers arguing but fifty-fifty is still fifty-fifty, and, after all, a space station is more or less a huge, floating machine. If anyone has an edge navigating through a machine, it's Torres.

They turn two corners before Tom hears a tell-tale commotion from behind confirming that their pursuer (pursuers? It sounds like bull-man has friends...) have arrived in the corridor. Torres skids to a halt in front of one of the station's lifts expectantly.

The doors to the lift remain firmly closed.

"Hells..." The engineer attacks the panel at the lift's side. "We need to get down five levels to the docking ring," she explains without looking away from the panel. "The lifts have been stopped by some sort of override code." She frowns as she glances briefly at a second screen. "It looks like there is a waste chute there," she shrugs towards a slotted vent, "if we wanted to try our luck with that."

Tom grimaces at the vent. "Bad idea. I saw that in a movie once. Very bad results."

"'Movie'?" Torres queries, still working furiously.

"Old entertainment form…" An energy blast hits the wall at the end of the corridor, interrupting Tom's words. "You know what: not important."

"Right." The engineer taps out one final command with something that might almost be a flourish and the lift doors open. "In we go, flyboy."

A second energy blast adds emphasis to her words as the lift doors close them in. Which should be a relief. Except for the less-than-happy chief engineer who is giving Tom a look that could melt titanium.

"Now why, exactly, am I being shot at?"

Guessing it's his best chance at surviving until the lift doors reopen, Tom extracts Vala's vial from his pocket. "This," he says, tossing it to Torres.

She catches it with a frown. After a brief examination, her expression shifts. "Is this...?"

The doors open to reveal the docking ring. In tandem, they sprint for the airlock where the _Drake_ is waiting.

"Get us moving," Torres directs unnecessarily as Tom slides into the pilot's seat.

"Thirty seconds," he calls over, cutting to a fourth the by-the-book Starfleet emergency shuttle flight prep time. A flashing light catches his attention. "B'Elanna, the station landing struts aren't retracting."

: _Shuttle_ Drake _, this is Atarean control tower. Your approved departure is not until the next cycle. If you wish to depart at an earlier window, please apply for the necessary variance_ :

A glance at Torres's less than diplomatic reaction has Tom jumping in to reply: "We're in a bit of a hurry. Would it be possible..."

"Weapons fire!" interrupts Torres a millisecond before the _Drake_ rocks from the impact.

"Control tower, we need to depart now. We're under attack!"

: _The Renuit vessels have authorization to use force in this facility's space. The shuttle_ Drake _does not have authorization to depart at this time_ :

"You've got to be kidding me," Torres snaps. Diving under the co-pilot console, she tears off a panel and yanks out a series of isolinear chips. "Hands off the controls!" She yells to Tom, who pulls his fingers away from his panel as an electromagnetic surge dances over the screen and out onto the _Drake_ 's hull. The distinct pop of the landing struts disengaging follows.

"Go!" Torres shouts, as the shuttle jumps forward at Tom's command.

Jumps forward and nearly collides with the station's main docking pylon.

"B'Elanna?" Tom calls as he struggles to control the vessel.

The engineer pulls back up to the control panels. "Their first shot took out our starboard thrusters."

"Well that should make the rest of the trip back home more interesting," Tom mutters as he burns the port thrusters _hard_ to spin the shuttle around and avoid more station infrastructure. "And 'they' are…?"

"Three ships," Torres confirms. "Closing fast." A pause and then, "I'm working on getting some more power to the shields."

Another jarring spin to clear the last of the station.

"So did you steal it?"

"What?" They're in open space now – except for those three Renuit ships which are continuing to fire with abandon.

"The tellerium. Did you steal it?"

Dive and then roll.

"No. Would it matter?" Were he not so distracted keeping them in one piece, Tom might give some more thought to the nuances of the sometime-Maquis-now-Starfleet engineer's ethical code.

"It might explain why we're being shot at."

Which is fair enough. "I traded for it." A well-timed acceleration leads to one of the Renuit vessels finding itself on the unfortunate end of friendly fire.

"Traded? With Vala? Paris, you didn't..."

Interestingly, the engineer's tone suggests that _that_ would matter.

"Shocking though it might be, no, I did not." The _Drake_ shudders and spins as another shot hits home.

Half-flung from her seat, Torres glares over at him. "Then who's shooting at us and why?"

Another dive and again a hard burn on the port thrusters. "Vala's husband. She says he's the jealous type."

"But you said you didn't..."

"No, I didn't." They are ahead of the Renuit now. "Are we good to go to warp?"

"Whenever you're ready."

"Getting us the hell out of here – now!"

Star trails replace alien ships on the viewscreen; Tom slumps back into his seat in relief.

"No sign of pursuit."

"Setting a course for our rendezvous point with _Voyager_ – though we're going to be a few hours early."

A minute passes as they each work at their respective stations.

"So you didn't sleep with her?"

Tom glances up, but the engineer's eyes are on the panels in front of her. "No, I didn't sleep with her," he confirms.

"And you didn't steal the tellerium?"

"Nope."

"So why the hell were we being shot at?"

Entering a last command, Tom swings around in his seat. "Vala's family runs the tellerium refinery and, like I said, Vala's husband is the jealous sort." At Torres's impatiently raised brows, he continues, "And their relationship evidently thrives on a certain amount of…well…drama. I offered to provide some...drama...in return for some tellerium." Tom shrugs, oddly uncomfortable under the engineer's unreadable stare.

Not responding immediately, Torres pulls the vial of tellerium back out of her pocket and considers it. She looks over at Tom, her expression still indecipherable. "So without stealing or trading Federation technology and while even keeping your pants on, you managed to get us enough tellerium to keep my engines running for the next year?"

Again, Tom shrugs.

One corner of the engineer's mouth lifts into a half-smile as she shakes her head and looks back down at her panel. She neither glances back up nor utters another word, but the smile remains as she continues her work.

And damn if she doesn't have a nice smile.

This might make the rest of the trip back home more interesting indeed.


	2. Pitch

_Pitch_

"It was a planetary survey mission. I didn't realize you were expecting a souvenir."

"Shut up and fly, Tom."

"That's what I'm attempting to do."

"Attempt harder – that mountain range is getting close in a hurry."

This is true and, to be honest, Tom isn't sure what to do about it.

.

.

_…the day had started off so well. Off on a survey mission – alone with B'Elanna. Time by themselves, even if that time was to be spent investigating possible mineral deposits on the less than hospitable surfaces of a twin planetary system. Fiji it was not – but, as…interesting…as things had become between him and the chief engineer since their adventures on the Sakari home world, Tom hadn't been feeling particularly picky._

_And their work had even taken an unexpectedly intriguing turn when B'Elanna had literally tripped over evidence of an alien civilization…_

.

.

"Did you try that lever on the right?"

"Yes, I tried that one – and every other lever on the panel as well. As well as the pedals on the floor. No dice."

" _baQa'_ …"

"You really need to teach me Klingon sometime. At least the interesting parts."

"Tom..."

"I know: shut up and fly."

.

.

… _the hatch that B'Elanna had stumbled upon had opened to reveal a subterranean silo housing a contraption that looked only about two steps further advanced than something out of a Jules Verne story. Tom and B'Elanna had both scrambled eagerly down into the bunker, B'Elanna heading for what looked like primitive computers lining the circular walls while Tom approached the…craft…in the silo's center._  
d s _"Tom? Come take a look at this."_  
 _Having discovered what appeared to be the vessel's access point, it had been with more than a little reluctance that Tom had torn himself away and moved to join B'Elanna. "Did you find something?"_

.

.

"What's that thing to the side of you?"

"What?"

"By the back of your…chair? On the floor?"

A quick twist away from their impending mountainous doom allows Tom to locate the object of B'Elanna's interest – and a matching device on his opposite side.

"Uh, B'Elanna?"

"What?"

"I think we may have a problem."

.

.

_"…it just started flashing a second ago."_

_Flashing red lights were rarely a good thing – no matter what alien technology they were embedded in. "Did you touch anything?"_

_B'Elanna had shaken her head. "I didn't even get a chance to do a tricorder scan. Maybe we triggered something when we came in?"_

_Tom had swept his wrist light across the dirt encrusted console to the left and right of the single, steadily pulsing light. "I'd bet this equipment hasn't been touched in at least a century. Where is it even drawing power from?"_

_Which was when the ground had begun to move beneath them…_

.

.

"What do you mean they weren't bipedal?"

"That device is another pedal, identical to the two in front of me – and to the one on the other side behind me. And I'm betting the four of them together control the pitch."

" _tojo'Qa'_!"

"You really need to…"

"Shut up, Paris."

Which Tom did, though his mouth remained open in slack-jawed surprise as B'Elanna swung out of her seat and straddled his – and him.

.

.

_"Well that can't be good."_   
_B'Elanna had flicked on her tricorder. "There is a buildup of geothermal energy directly below us." Tom had watched her eyes widen. "A significant buildup." Frowning at her reading, she had looked toward the center of the silo. "Tom…"_   
_Tom had followed her gaze to see that the exterior lights of the alien craft were now glowing brightly – and he could hear a steadily building whirling noise emanating from within the hull. "It must be powered by the geothermal energy." He had moved back to the vessel, running his hands over its hull, grinning, he was well aware, like a kid on Christmas morning._   
_Following him while still looking down at the tricorder, B'Elanna had nodded in agreement. "I think that's the idea, yes, but the system is malfunctioning."_

_"Malfunctioning how?"_  
 _"It's overloading, big time." Tom's grin had died as B'Elanna's frown deepened. "This whole structure is going to blow and take us with it."_  
.

.  
_Just fly the ship. Just fly the ship._  
"OK, let's try this: I'm going to press both rear pedals while you hit both front pedals. Got it?" Tom nods, not entirely trusting his voice as B'Elanna shifts more tightly against him in order to reach both pedals. "Now!"  
Tom stomps on both of his pedals as B'Elanna does the same – and the nose of the vessel responds by beginning to nudge up from its deadly descent.  
Unfortunately, the craft isn't the only thing pulling up.

_Shit._

.

.

" _You're sure this is a good idea?"_

_Tom hadn't answered, instead shining his wrist light around the circular space into which they had just crawled – a space that he assumed to be the cockpit of the alien craft. The low ceiling left him almost doubled over; he had shuffled towards a squat, backless stool that was orientated towards a bank of controls and a viewport: the pilot's chair, he presumed._

" _Can you even fly this thing?" B'Elanna had moved to a second 'chair', but her eyes were on the controls in front of Tom. Suddenly the craft had shuddered as the silo floor began to move more violently. Another distinct whirling sound and the vessel had begun to tilt back until the silo's open hatch came into sight through the viewport. Above Tom's head – very close above Tom's head – the vessel's ceiling had begun to glow an insistent shade of neon green.  
"I think we're about to find out – hold on to something!"_

 _Trusting a lifetime of piloting instincts, Tom had gripped a conveniently located bar tightly with one hand and then, with the other hand, pulled down hard on the largest of the control bank's levers…_  
.

.

"B'Elanna, I'm so sor…"

"Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and fly."

"Right. Shutting up and flying." Easier to say than do, but they do still need to figure out how to safely land their little souvenir. "Can you try easing up on both of your pedals just a touch? I want to see if I can get us leveled out."

"Sure." Tom can feel all too distinctly the subtle shift in her weight as she complies with his request – when did the uniform fabric become so thin anyway?  
.

.

_…the first minute of their ascent had seen them both intensely occupied with holding on for dear life to prevent being thrown off their stools and against cockpit's back wall by the g forces created by the rocketing craft. As the clouds in front of them began to give way to stars, Tom had finally been able to ease his grip and assess their situation._

_"We seem to have some sort of life support, so that's good. We should be able to hang out in orbit until_ Voyager _returns to the system."_

_B'Elanna, having pulled out a tricorder, had frowned. "Maybe…"_

_"'Maybe'? 'Maybe' why?"_

_"'Maybe' because of that."_

_Which was when the second planet of the binary planetary system had swung into view and their craft had again begun to pick up speed – this time downward, towards the second planet's surface…_

.

.

"Now ease up altogether – and we're down."

Tom's eyes close in relief as the vessel settles lightly onto the second planet's surface. _Lightly_ – but whether or not _safely_ remains to be seen. Because he still has a certain half-Klingon chief engineer nestled snuggly on his lap.

Wait, _still_?

Tom opens his eyes in confusion to see that, yes, B'Elanna is still in fact astride him. Not only that, she is grinning – in relief and amusement… and maybe something else?

"Um, I think we made it." Tom offers, just in case she's waiting for the announcement to, well, disembark.

"I think we did, yes."

She's still not moving and that tone – Tom isn't sure what to do with that tone.

He tries again, "Well, that was more exciting that we were expecting."

B'Elanna chuckles – a low, throaty chuckle that does nothing to help Tom's physical predicament. "Exciting? Yes, at least for one of us, that's fairly apparent."  
Tom can feel his pale skin turning a hot scarlet. "B'Elanna, I'm so sorry. If I had any…"  
"Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Then she's leaning in, her chest pressing against his and he can feel her breath against his lips…

:Voyager _to Lieutenants Paris and Torres. Tom and B'Elanna, can you read us_?:

In a single lithe movement B'Elanna is off his lap and busily examining…something… on the other wall of the cockpit.

Tom takes an extra moment to ensure that his voice will register at the correct octave before responding, "We're here – though not quite where you left us." Which, just maybe, Tom considers as he steals a glance over at his still very busy companion, is true in more ways than one.


	3. Roll

_Roll_

"So, do you think it has potential?"

Tom raps his knuckles against the outer hull of the…rocket ship? Is that what he calls it?...and gives a wag of his eyebrows that he probably thinks is encouraging – or endearing. B'Elanna's lips tighten along with the cross of her arms at her chest. She considers asking Tom to raise the ambient temperature in the holodeck but she isn't really cold. Just…out of her element.

Instead, she taps one foot with exaggerated impatience.

Tom shrugs, his optimism undaunted. "OK, let's head inside; you're going to love the hydropump activator."

"The 'hydropump activator'? What the hell is a 'hydropump activator'?"

"You'll see-" Tom presses a button with what can only be described as gusto. "Voilà!"

He moves to the side, inviting B'Elanna to enter first. She takes a long breath and then moves to the now open hatch, arms still crossed. With one final marked sigh, she ducks slightly and enters. Tom bends to follow her in, pulling the hatch closed behind them.

B'Elanna stops at the top of the two-step drop that marks the entrance, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She can feel Tom's interested gaze on her – can see out of the corner of her eye the undampened enthusiasm of his expression. She scans the bridge of the ship, eyes moving past the consoles with their ridiculous number of knobs and levers, pausing at a periscope-like device hanging perilously close to skull height mid-bridge and what looks like a giant viewscreen on its own raised dais before finally coming to rest on an unlikely contraption made up of fluid filled cylindrical tubes with conduits of some sort coiled around them.

Against her will, one of B'Elanna's eyebrows crawls up.

"I thought you would like that."

"I wouldn't say 'like'." She shrugs then, her arms loosening ever so slightly: "Your 'hydraulic activator', I presume?"

"Hydro _pump_ activator." Tom corrects, motioning for her to follow him to the back of the bridge where the reactor sits. She grudgingly does so, squinting at the bubbling liquid within the cylinders.

"What's the fluid?"

"Liquid unobtanium."

"'Unobtanium'." Both eyebrows are now up. "And the power source?" She glances towards the center of the machine where something appears to be glowing softly.

"An adamantine crystal."

"An adamantine crystal?"

Tom nods. "From the Mines of Mercury."

"The Mines of Mercury. Of course." She throws up her hands. "Tom, this is absurd."

"Maybe in your universe." Her hands land on her hips. Undeterred, Tom explains, "Proton's world is a fictional universe – the invention of those who could only guess at the realities of space travel. It has its own rules, and its own internal consistency."

"'Internal consistency'?"

Tom nods, his expression all sincerity.

B'Elanna snorts but she squats down to get a closer look at the piston-like devices near the base of the activator's structure. The concept is certainly…inventive.

"Want to join me on her maiden flight?"

She looks up, sitting back on her heels. "You haven't flown this thing yet?" she asks in disbelief. "You and Harry have spent hours in this program."

Tom gives a half-shrug. "These old shows were pretty low budget; special effects were time consuming. It was cheaper to keep the big ships on the ground most of the time." Tom squints, mind running back through the chapters he and Harry have played out. "Chaotica flew her once, but I've mostly traveled around with the rocket pack."

"The what?"

Tom indicates a Scuba tank-like device propped against the port bulkhead.

"Is there an EVA suit that goes with that thing?"

"Well, no…"

"Internal consistency?"

Tom grins. "Now you're catching on."

"Right…" B'Elanna lets her tone dismiss the topic. "So maiden…ish flight?"

"You'll do it?"

She bites back a grin at his too obvious delight and turns back to the activator. "I'm here, aren't I?" Then, keeping her voice carefully disinterested, "Aren't you supposed to have a coat or jacket or something?" Her eyes are on the machinery.

"Usually, sure. But I'd assumed you wouldn't be interested in costumes…?" There is an unseemly amount of hope in his trailing statement.

B'Elanna's harrumphs. " _I_ am not." She's fiddling with one of the omnipresent control levers now. "But if you want to, go ahead."

"You're sure?"

"Sure. Fine. Whatever you want."

He hesitates, likely trying to decide about her tone. She carefully avoids his eyes. After another moment of deliberation, he heads over to retrieve the flight suit from its hook on the bulkhead near the hatch. B'Elanna crosses the bridge as well, ostensibly to check out the forward consoles. She gives half her attention to deciphering the configuration of the ungainly controls while watching Tom shrug on the dark leather jacket.

She flips a couple of switches and the deck beneath them begins to vibrate.

"I see you figured out how to power her up."

"I just followed the 'internal consistency'."

Tom chuckles as he passes behind her - passes closely enough for her to ascertain that the replicated leather holds an enticingly authentic scent - and moves to the second control console.

"Hover thrusters engaged. Landing gear retracting in 5, 4, 3, 2…" There is thud below them and the ship shudders momentarily before steadying. Tom looks down at a series of lights. "And…we're aloft." B'Elanna snorts at the more than slight relief mixed with the excitement in Tom's voice. Then she checks the indicators on her own console.

"Propulsion…"

"Space drive."

" _Space drive_ is online and navigation…"

"Steering jets."

"… _steering jets_ are active." Consciously relaxing her gritted teeth, she turns in Tom's direction, one hand moving back down to her hip. "Take us out -" and then with her intonation just so, "- _Captain_."

The effect of those two syllables on Tom's expression is worth a dictionary full of ridiculous technobabble. "Space drive engaged," he confirms, a little too quickly, but his palm is steady on the acceleration lever as he pushes the craft into a smooth ascent. B'Elanna keeps her eyes on him, unable to resist a wicked grin.

"What?"

"Nothing… _Captain_."

The rocket ship jumps forward. B'Elanna smirks; Tom visibly swallows.

An alarm sounds as lights that B'Elanna assumes would be red in a non-monochromatic universe begin flashing. Tom's attention jumps back to his controls.

"Shit."

"What?"

"Hold on!"

B'Elanna grips her console as Tom does the same and, below them, the deck begins to roll upward. Centrifugal force vies with the rocket ship's primitive artificial gravity and the holodeck's safeties. The result is probably not at all internally consistent…not to mention highly disorientating. On the positive side, both Tom's and B'Elanna's feet remain on the deck.

B'Elanna gulps to avoid a resurgence of Neelix's Ailis paté consumed an hour before and tries to make sense of the indicators on the panel before her. Next to her, Tom barks, "Computer, end –"

"No, wait."

Sounding frustrated and more than a little nauseated, Tom insists, "B'Elanna, it's a program glitch. I'll pull up the coding and…"

"No. I mean, yes." She flips a couple of switches, presses a button, checks the result. "It's a program glitch, but we can still fix it."

"Maybe, but…"

"Damn." Another indicator light flashes on. "There's feedback loop – we can't reset the engines remotely." She looks over at Tom. "You said that the adamant crystal…"

"Adamantine crystal."

"…adamantine crystal is the power source for the…hydropump activator, right?" Tom nods. "So if I pull the crystal it stops the engine?" Another, more hesitant nod. "Good. I'll pull the crystal to stop the acceleration, you get us leveled off and then I'll reinsert the crystal and we'll reinitialize the engines."

"B'Elanna…"

She re-crosses her arms, this time in deliberate challenge. "I assume you can level us off?"

As desired, Tom bristles. "Yes, of course, but that's not the…"

"You wanted me to play along, didn't you?"

He considers that for a moment and then grins, turning back to the flight controls. "Well, when you put it that way…awaiting your word, Chief."

Crossing back to the activator while the ship continues to roll is more difficult than B'Elanna had anticipated: she never had been very good at finding her sea legs. Arriving at last, however, she spots the glowing crystal in the center of the contraption. Reaching for it, she yells back to Tom, "Ready?"

"Whenever you are."

"Now!"

She pulls hard on the crystal which dislodges with a pop sending her sprawling across the deck.

"B'Elanna!?"

"I'm fine – level off the ship!"

If the rolling of the rocket ship had made moving across the bridge disorientating, Tom's fight to control the vessel makes it damn near impossible. B'Elanna finds herself crawling across the deck plates, crystal still in hand.

"Got it!" Tom calls as she reaches the activator once more. "Holding her steady whenever you're ready with that crystal."

Reaching back into the center of the activator she reinserts the crystal. In response, the unobtanium once again begins to bubble.

"Engines reinitialized," B'Elanna calls back and then slumps back down on the deck plates, leaning against a cylinder. Closing her eyes, she wills her stomachs to settle as she assesses whether any of the bumps or bruises she had received skidding across the bridge are in need of attention.

"B'Elanna?"

She opens her eyes to see Tom squatting at her side.

"We made it?"

"We did," he assures. "We just broke atmosphere and I initiated the autopilot." He eyes her with concern. "You okay?"

"Sure," she replies, swallowing a little. "Still trying to keep down lunch." She reaches out a hand. "Help me up?"

Tom grins and stands, reaching down to clasp her hand and pull her up as well.

"Are Captain Proton's adventures always that interesting?"

"Well, usually they're a bit more…scripted," Tom admits.

B'Elanna catches the scent of Tom's jacket again – gods, that man can program when he puts his mind to it – and edges closer.

"Too bad."

Tom's eyebrows rise. "Why? Did you want me to write you in as a recurring character?"

B'Elanna snorts. "Not likely. I think this is pretty much a one time cameo appearance," and she leans just a touch further in, "Captain."

Tom lets out a not entirely even breath. "Can I ask you just one question?"

"If you must."

"Why did you agree to come in here with me at all?"

"Because this," and she watches in not little amusement as Tom's mouth flies closed, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as her hands stroke across the supple leather covering his chest, "most definitely has potential."


End file.
